


Cogito Ergo Sum

by agirlnamedtruth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Canonical Character Death, Episode: s05e12-13 The Diamond of the Day, Gen, Post Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 10:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlnamedtruth/pseuds/agirlnamedtruth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All he has is light and thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cogito Ergo Sum

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Writerverse](http://writerverse.livejournal.com)'s Table of Doom, prompt "blinding light". Title taken from philosophy (Descartes, to be specific), commonly known as "I think, therefore I am". Takes place post 5x13, after Arthur's death from Arthur's p.o.v.
> 
> Also, if I ever get it finished on time, consider this a mini-glimpse into my Paperlegends fic. 
> 
> My idea of the afterlife is not taken from any religion but rather from the Big Finish audio play "[Scherzo](http://bigfinish.com/releases/v/scherzo-218)".

Only seconds had passed. All he can do is see and all he can see is a blinding light. It hurt his eyes, burned them until seeing is meaningless.

_Good, not dead then, your eyes can’t hurt if you’re dead,_ something in the back of his mind reminded him. 

See and think then. He can see and he can still think, somewhere in his head, his voice is still there. He tried to use it, say something out loud but he couldn’t make it work.

A memory came back to him, the barest fleeting image, the very same kind of blinding light. It took him a moment to remember where the memory was from and then it hit him like a lance in the gut. Or more accurately a sword. Mordred’s sword. The light, the burning light he’d had to endure to see his Father, to pass between worlds.

_Perhaps a little dead then,_ he corrected his mind.

_How can we be a **little** dead?_ his mind argued back, _either we’re dead or we’re not._

_Fine, we’re **dead**. Are you happy now? We’re dead._ He paused, taking it in. _I’m dead._

-x-

Hours passed. Or perhaps they were only minutes; he had no way of knowing. All he could see was the light and all he could hear were his thoughts. Neither were much comfort.

What was comforting was that he was alone, apart from himself. Perhaps being truly alone was not a comfort, or at least he knew it wouldn’t stay one as time dragged on, but he’d expected to see others, people he’d killed in battle or had executed, people his father hand wronged. He’d expected to see Morgana.

There were many tales of what happened when one departed from this world, _that world_ , his mind corrected him, but none of them were like this. He hadn’t been asked to pay for his sins nor had he been returned to his lost loved ones. It seemed his mind was just going on, continuing to exist like nobody had told it that his body had died.

_Perhaps we’re not dead then,_ his mind put forward, _only sleeping_.

-x-

Days passed. Or perhaps they were only hours. He still had no way of knowing. He felt like he was waiting for something although what he was waiting for was a complete mystery to him. Not waiting then, frozen, stopped, finished, done, gone.

_What are we still doing here then?_ his mind asked him. 

It was fast becoming a one-sided relationship, the one between him and his mind. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like what it had to say. Even if he knew they were really his thoughts, deep down.

His mind seemed to hear him, feel his dislike of it, become aware of the fact that its words scared him sometimes and that’s why he couldn’t say them himself.

_We’re just waiting,_ his mind reassured him, _we’ll be needed again._

_What if we’re not?_ he asked it back, not reassured at all.

_We will be,_ his mind claimed, adamant now. _We were never alone._

_Who do we still have?_ Arthur couldn’t deny that there would be people who mourned him but they would have already accepted he was dead. 

_Don’t pretend you don’t know,_ his mind said, not entirely in his own voice, reminding exactly who before shutting up for a long while, leaving him, impossibly enough, alone with his thoughts.

-x-

Weeks passed. Or perhaps they were only days. He’d almost stopped pretending he knew. He was sure this was it. This was all that was left for eternity. Nothing and light and thoughts and nothing.

_You’ve still got me,_ his mind reminded him.

He wished he didn’t. He wished he was completely crazy or completely unaware. Either would suffice. Knowing was difficult. Forgetting was impossible. Existing, still, was tiresome.

-x-

Time passed. Or maybe it didn’t. Who knew? Who cared? Who marked the seconds when there was no end in sight? Could one even put a number on forever? What was the point when it could only be measured in light and thoughts and... sound?

It was, a sound, barely there, like a mistake. But no, still there, sure now. A lone instrument, a lone note.

_Arthur..._

He wasn’t sure if it was the music or his mind or a voice, someone calling him back. Or both at once, as one.

_Back?_

No, that was his mind, questioning it. How could he go back? What would he go back to? He was dead, surely. But then, he wouldn’t be the first person to come back from being dead. Was that what he waiting for?

_Arthur..._

Not his mind. Something else. Someone else? Something to go back to then.

The realisation made it clearer, like a curtain dropping. A horn blowing. Didn’t some madman once claim that the world would end and the dead would rise to the sound of a horn? Was that what this was? Was he rising? Did that mean the world was ending? What would be the point of coming back to nothing?

_Arthur..._

No, not nothing. Something. Someone. Someone had to be calling him. Someone had to be pulling him. Someone had to be there. He just had to let himself follow. 

No, not that horn then, another. It lingered in his mind somewhere, another horn.

The light started to fade and he started to feel again. He’d been here before, he knew, on the other side. He was sure he was on the wrong side now.

_The wrong side means you’re dead,_ his mind said and he wished it hadn’t. If only he could stop thinking for a moment and just be...

He forced his thoughts down, every sense trying to take priority in their absence. Taste, salt, dirt, water. Smell, a thousand things carried on a breeze. Hearing, the horn, a heart beating, his own? Sight, distant shadows and shapes, somebody else, he could nearly see them, nearly. Touch, feeling, the air on his skin, cold, damp, fleeting and then hard, colliding with him, warm....all his senses rushed at once to keep up with the change, all fighting to work it out first but his mind, a single thought won.

_Merlin..._


End file.
